


Dark

by archi



Series: By Grace, We Are Saved [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean catches up on sleep, Depression, Gen, Johnny Cash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 16:39:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archi/pseuds/archi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Go tell that long tongue liar. Go and tell that midnight rider<br/>Tell the rambler, the gambler the back biter<br/>Tell ‘em that God’s gonna cut ‘em down,<br/>Tell ‘em that God’s gonna cut ’em down...</p><p>-Johnny Cash (God's Gonna Cut You Down)</p><p>Note: <b>This verse reads as one continuous story</b> Some sections overlap as told from different pov.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark

Dean stared at his ceiling a very long while, fishing for something - anything left that hadn’t been expelled the night before. His muscles ached and he felt the punctuation of knots and stiffness in his arms and shoulders - but that was all. Perhaps he’d screamed enough and swung enough that there wasn’t anything left of himself inside.

That’d be a relief.

His room was inviting once again, the mattress comfortable and the decor familiar yet he felt oddly detached. The chances of anyone bothering him today were slim to none. No doubt Sam would go and bitch about Dean’s episode to Charlie and they’d let him stay in his room until they deemed his health or hygiene or both to be in danger.

He could live with that.

So he stared at the ceiling, traced the patterns into highways and freeways and back country roads that went on and on...

He imagined the purr of Baby’s engine, and considered throwing on a vinyl to complete the fantasy, but decided against it. The bed was warm and the floor would be cold on his feet. His voice would do, anyway.

The notes came out nonsensically at first, hummed without real purpose, hoping perhaps to stumble upon something like a familiar tune. He almost smiled when a few notes strung together of a Johnny Cash song and he hummed a few measures before breathing out the lyrics quietly.

“You can run for a long time...run for a long time, run for a long time...sooner or later God’ll cut you down, sooner or later God’ll cut you down...

“Go tell that long tongue liar...go and tell that midnight rider...tell the rambler, the gambler the back biter...Tell ‘em that God’s gonna cut ‘em down, tell ‘em that God’s gonna cut ’em down...

His non-committal singing faded into clips of words as he wandered over the next few verses, coming back to himself, imagining the gravelly, haunting voice he’d played over Baby’s speakers until the cassettes had to be replaced,

“Well, you may throw your rock and hide your hand...workin’ in the dark against your fellow man, but sure as God made black and white...what’s down in the dark will be brought to the light...

“You can run on for a long time... run on for a long time, run on for a long time...sooner or later God’ll cut you down...sooner or later God’ll cut you down...” he hummed the last repeated chorus and let his voice face. His eyes were heavy and he didn’t try to stop them as they eased close.

…

 

_knock...knock-knock._

Dean buried his face into his pillow, retrieving the limbs that had snuck out from under blankets and bringing them back against his body.

_knock-knock._

“What?” he grumbled.

“Dean...Are you okay?”

“‘m fine, Sammy,” he groaned.

“Can I come in?”

Sam apparently took the proceeding groan as a ‘yes’ and pushed the door open. A sharp strip of warm light from the hallway fell across his bed and he hid his face.

“What time is it?” Dean asked. There was a clock by his bedside but he was feeling useless and not in the mood to extend effort for anything.

“Almost midnight. You slept all day.” Sam set a sandwich and a glass of water on his bedside table.

“I deserve a good night’s - day’s - rest, I think...” he turned back into his pillow, “Maybe two. Or three?”

“Dean...”

“Sam...” he grouched back, knowing it would only piss Sam off.

Sam just huffed.

“You feeling any better?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Sam said, a little reluctantly, “Better than in a long time. Like...normal.”

“Good. I’m happy for you, Sammy,” Dean said. And he meant it. “You deserve it.”

Sam chuckled, “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What now? What’s next?”

“Well...I think once you get your oversized carcass of my bed I’m going to sleep some more.”

“Seriously? It’s been, like, almost twenty hours.”

“It’s been a rough couple years,” Dean shrugged. He was feeling petulant and now that Sam was a grown up he could return the favor of Dean playing Mommy and Daddy for all those years. “Just let me stay in here for a while, okay. I’m not going to die...What’s Charlie up to?”

“She took off this morning. Something nerdy - I didn’t ask for details.”

“Hmm.”

“Something wrong?”

“Nah, just...” he shrugged again. “Hope she comes back. I like her.”

““She said she’d only be gone a day or two.”

“In that case I better get back to my beauty sleep. Can’t slack on personal grooming when you’re the Queen’s handmaid.”

“Maid?” Sam scoffed, “Yeah, right. Only in Moondoor Dean.”

“Just get out, Sam,” Dean said, letting impatience tug at the words.

Sam put up his hands defensively. “Hey I was just making sure you didn’t _starve_ , you ungrateful jerk.”

“Thank you Sam,” he sing-songed back.

Sam sighed again, pat him on the shoulder and then left.

Dean eyed the sandwich.

His stomach was pretty sure it was hungry but Dean didn’t want to do _anything_. He didn’t want to extend the effort to eat the stupid sandwich. His throat was dry enough to make the water tempting, but even that took a few minutes of just staring to convince him.

It was tepid and soothing, and he drained the glass before lying back. Sam had closed the door when he left, once again throwing Dean into darkness. The air was too warm and the skin all over his body felt sticky and hot.

He pulled up more records in his mind, hummed nonsensically, muttering phrases here and there, and kept his eyes open. The dark room was comforting. The faintest indications of furniture or his weapons on the wall - like everything he was had been put far, far away and he didn’t have to deal with it right now. He could allow broken phrases from Metallica and Lynyrd Skynyrd to float aimlessly in the hot atmosphere and if REO Speedwagon snuck in nobody was around and Dean wasn’t feeling particularly sensitive about his pride anyway.


End file.
